


One For the Books

by IdleLeaves



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: F/F, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Flash Fic, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-07 22:39:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10371336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdleLeaves/pseuds/IdleLeaves
Summary: A collection of flashfic and snippets forSynchronised Screamingand other challenges.Chapter 11: About Time- Sigrun's night is not quite going according to plan. (Aksel/Sigrun)Chapter 12: Demure- Tuuri likes being in charge. (Sigrun/Tuuri/No-Arms)(NEW) Chapter 13: Over It- Emil attempts to apologise. (Emil/Lalli)





	1. Home Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Onni waits at the train station for his sister and cousin to return from the Silent World. (For a prompt of "Lalli & Tuuri & Onni - reunions".)

Onni does not wait patiently, today. It starts small; crossing and uncrossing his arms, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, huffing out quiet, staccato breaths. As the time for the Dalahästen’s arrival comes and goes - it’s late, now, _four minutes_ late - he graduates to pacing up and down the platform.

Five minutes.

Six minutes.

Ten minutes. Onni’s eyes start to blur.

Twelve minutes, and finally, the click-click-clack of an oncoming train.

It comes to a stop with the teeth-gritting screech of metal on metal, and the doors rattle open. The first person to disembark is not his sister, or his cousin, and there are people, now, on the platform, blocking his view; how is he supposed to find–

A delighted squeal echoes across the platform.

Oh. That’s how.

Tuuri drops her bag to the ground with a thwack and all but launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his middle and squeezing until he’s short of breath. He rests his cheek against her hair, and tries to blink away the tears as she chatters on.

Lalli is there, too, when they separate, looking at them both with a slight tilt of his head. Onni reaches out, intending to put his hand on Lalli’s shoulder, but finds himself pulling Lalli into a gentle hug, instead. And Lalli, to his credit, doesn’t pull away.

At least, not at first; his hands rest on Onni’s back for just a few seconds, though, before he starts to fidget and steps to the side. “Can we go home now?” he asks.

“Yes,” Onni says, picking up Tuuri’s forgotten bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Yes, we can.”


	2. Toast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigrun visits one of her troll hunters in the hospital after a mission. (For a prompt of Sigrun & one of her captain buddies - celebrating after a troll hunt".)

“That was one for the history books,” Sigrun says, her voice – as always – a little too loud for a hospital. At least Dagny has been moved to a single-bed room for the night, and isn’t still in triage with nothing but thin curtains between her bed and the next. “Scouts just came back – we got the whole nest.”

Dagny smiles broadly, at that, though her brow is still tight with pain.

Sigrun removes Dagny’s pack – the same pack and weapons she’d managed to carry back to the village despite one arm broken and the other gashed and bloody – from the only chair in the room and thumps down into it, pulling two small clay bottles of mead out of her coat.

“Can’t,” says Dagny. “Painkillers.”

“Oh, I know,” Sigrun says, removing the bottle-caps. “They’re both for me.” She takes a sip of one, then the other. Dagny rolls her eyes. Sigrun’s smile morphs into a smirk. “We need a toast,” she says, “to the most best troll-hunting regiment in the Known World.” She raises both bottles, and clinks them together.

She takes a long swig from one of them, and holds the other to Dagny’s lips, bringing it only close enough for her to inhale the heady scent of the mead, and to suck just a drop of it onto her tongue. “Now get some sleep,” Sigrun says. “That’s an order.”


	3. Exhale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleeping arrangements on a stormy night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [Kiraly](archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly)

There will be no scout run tonight. In the tank's cramped sleeping quarters, six people lay under blankets while the wind howls outside; Emil can't see the far-off forest through the driving rain but he's sure the trees are bent and swaying. After a long moment of lying awake, he rises from his mattress on the floor and stretches out a kink in his back.

It's rare that Lalli sleeps at the same time as Emil does; it's even more rare that he does not do it curled under the bottom bunk. Emil takes the chances he is offered.

Climbing to the top bunk is a delicate maneuver in darkness. He reaches out and his hand finds Lalli's feet; Lalli shifts at the touch. Emil can imagine the heavy-lidded, not-quite-alert look on his face. "Shh, it's me," he whispers, as if Lalli – with his excellent night vision – does not already know.

It takes some effort for Emil to arrange himself behind Lalli, near the wall, matching the curve of Lalli's body in their limited space. He settles, as best he can, and draws a blanket over them both, one that Lalli must have shrugged off during the night.

When Emil wraps an arm around him, Lalli mumbles something soft and unintelligible, then presses back, fitting himself tightly against Emil. Emil presses a kiss to Lalli's neck, behind his ear; Lalli's response is a soft, contented exhale. Emil can feel it, moments later, when he relaxes back into sleep, and lets himself drift off as well.


	4. Borealis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A blanket, and the Northern Lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [Kiraly](archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly).

Reynir doesn't often see the stars, anymore – at least not while he's awake. Once in a while he manages to glimpse a few at twilight before retreating into the tank, but they're not worth the risk of remaining outside when night falls in the Silent World.

Tonight is an exception to the rule. They're not near a city, or even so much as a village, and their chosen campsite is in the middle of a wide, flat meadow with no place for grosslings to hide. Plus, Kisa is with him – and she's more useful, Reynir thinks, than the mask Mikkel had insisted he put on before stepping out into the dark and climbing to the roof of the tank.

The stars are bright without clouds to dim them, but there is, unexpectedly, something even better in the sky: wide ribbons of soft green light, waving gently above the horizon. It doesn't matter much, to Reynir, that they're neither as vibrant nor as colourful as at home – they're familiar, and that's enough.

Below him, the side door scrapes open; Kisa's ears twitch toward the sound. "Reynir?" says Tuuri. She scrambles onto the hood of the tank with the help of a wooden crate – the same one that allows her to reach the engine for repairs – and Reynir extends a hand to help her up the rest of the way. Kisa protests his movement with a low grumble, but doesn't leave Reynir's lap.

"Hello, Kisu," Tuuri says, then to Reynir, "I thought you might be cold."

"Oh," he says. "I'm fine, really, it's–" He stops as he realises, belatedly, that Tuuri carries a blanket over her arm. "Actually, it's getting a little colder. A blanket would be nice."

Tuuri drapes it across his shoulders. "Pretty," she says, looking up at the sky.

"Do you ever get to see them? In Keuruu, I mean." He's almost certain he's pronounced the name wrong, but Tuuri gives no indication.

"Not often," she says. "A few times per winter, if we're lucky. Does it happen a lot in Iceland?"

Reynir nods, and a smile spreads across his face. "And they're so bright," he says. "And different colours, and sometimes they take up half the sky. I used to--" He stops short, then. It's a long story, and Tuuri probably isn't here to listen to him ramble. She does enough of that, at other times.

He's not unaware of Tuuri edging closer to him, but her head falling onto his shoulder still takes him by surprise. It can't be comfortable, he thinks, the way her cheek rests against the bony curve of his arm. It would be nicer for her if – and as he moves she does also, quickly backing up. "Sorry... sorry," she says. For a moment, it seems like she might climb down and retreat into the tank.

"Wait," Reynir says, picking up the edge of the blanket around his shoulders. Please?" He holds out his arm, blanket extended toward her.

A small smile flashes across Tuuri's face. This time, her head finds a place squarely in the crook of Reynir's neck; he wraps his arm, and the blanket, around her shoulders. Kisa yawns, and stretches so she can lie on both of them at once.

"Well, Kisu is happy," says Tuuri, and her voice sounds like she might be, as well. The lights continue to wave above them, soft and green and comforting.


	5. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lalli comes back from an excursion spattered in blood. Fortunately, it isn't his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [yuuago](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yuuago).

The first thing Emil notices is blood. Even from a distance he sees red – too much red – spattered across Lalli's face and uniform. Lalli is moving under his own power, at least, and neither stumbles nor limps as he, Sigrun, and Mikkel hurry down the cobblestone road to the tank.

Emil's feet carry him forward before he has time to think about it. "What happened?" he asks, quickly, falling into step beside them. "Lalli?"

Sigrun answers for him. "He's not hurt," she says. "The troll is, though. Little twig did well." There's a swell in her voice that sounds suspiciously like pride, and for a second Emil thinks he sees something like satisfaction ghost over Lalli's face. The tension drains from Emil's shoulders.

Mikkel allows Lalli into the tank without extensive decontamination – the blood is not nearly fresh enough to be infectious – and Lalli heads straight for the bunk-room. He almost loses his balance when the tank shudders to life and lurches forward; when he puts out a hand to steady himself he leaves a smeared red glove-print on the door frame.

Said gloves are the first to go, followed by Lalli's rifle, knife, and boots. His jacket is next; Emil takes it and sets it aside, turned inside-out to keep the mess contained. Emil half-expects Lalli to immediately retreat under a bunk – he's not had nearly enough rest in the past week or more – but he sits on the floor in front of his mattress, instead, and Emil takes a quick minute to find a cloth, wet it, and return to Lalli.

He joins Lalli on the floor, and reaches out with the cloth. Lalli protests with a quiet huff, but he closes his eyes and allows Emil to wash the blood from his forehead, his cheeks, his eyelashes, the strands of hair around his face. His second sigh is soft and deep.

"There," Emil says, and tosses the cloth onto Lalli's soiled jacket. Lalli mumbles something in Finnish – Emil is slowly learning, but these are words he does not know – and slides under the bunk, curling around himself in the narrow space. "Get some sleep," says Emil. Before he can rise to his feet, Lalli shifts, and Emil finds his wrist caught and held in Lalli's long fingers.

"Oh," he says. "I suppose I can, for a while." Emil withdraws his hand but stays close, moving to settle himself on the floor against the bunk, near Lalli's feet. In the next compartment, Sigrun and Mikkel discuss the day's finds, and the tank's motor hums as Tuuri drives them out of the city.


	6. Enough Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asbjørn's not sure which one of them has it worse, that day - Solveig with the trolls or him with their darling daughter. (For a prompt of "massages after a hunt and a day looking after kid!Sigrun alone respectively".)

It's past nightfall when Solveig makes her way home, still smelling faintly of troll. It must be her boots; she'd showered and changed the rest of her clothes at the barracks. She leaves them outside the door in the frosty night air and pads into the house in her socks.

She tiptoes past the den once she sees Sigrun sprawled asleep on the floor in front of the hearth, still clutching the wooden sword that had been a - perhaps ill-advised - birthday gift some months ago. The oil lamps in the kitchen are burning bright, and Asbjørn looks up from the unidentifiable mess he's almost finished scrubbing off the counter.

"So," says Solveig, and nods her head back toward the den. She leans against the counter with her arms crossed.

"Please tell me you didn't wake her," says Asbjørn, and drops his rag into the sink.

"Never," Solveig says. "What did she do this time?"

"What _didn't_ she do." Asbjørn shakes his head, but there's an almost-smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "You're lucky you have a house to come home to." He extinguishes all the lamps save one, and carries it with him as they pass quietly through the hall to their bedroom. "I'm not sure which of us had it worse - you with the trolls, or me with our darling daughter."

"That's a question for the ages," Solveig says, "and one we're not likely to be able to answer." She sits on their bed with her legs folded underneath her. "Enough talk. Take off your shirt."

Asbjørn pauses with the lamp in his hand. "I'm sure you used to be better at seduction. Or at least more... subtle."

Solveig snorts. "Ass," she says. "If I was trying to seduce you, you'd know. Now get over here."

Asbjørn complies, after setting the lamp on their bedside table. His shirt lands on the chair in the corner, and Solveig directs him to lie on the bed on his stomach. She moves to straddle his waist, and presses the heels of her palms - hard - into the muscles of his shoulders. He makes a sound that's just this side of undignified, and she can feel him start to relax under her hands.

Solveig works her way down to his waist, and then back up again, pressing her thumbs against the particularly stubborn knots. "Better?" she asks, and takes his answering groan as a yes.

She glances, then, out the door and down the hall. "Sigrun," she says. "Shouldn't one of us carry her to bed?"

"What if we wake her?"

"... Right," says Solveig. "Another night on the floor won't kill her."


	7. Not Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first thing Emil feels - when he starts to get his wits about him - is pain. (For a prompt of "Blood on the Snow".)

The first thing Emil feels - when he starts to get his wits about him - is pain. It's a sickening thud-thud-thud at the back of his head, radiating forward to his temples, to his jaw. He opens his eyes; the world spins; he closes them again.

Beside him, Lalli yells for help. No, that can't be right. Lalli doesn't yell so loudly - except for that one time in his sleep, but then there'd been something very, very wrong.

The rock-and-snow-covered ground is cold against his back. Emil can't move his legs. There's a weight on them, and on his chest, more than he can hope to move on his own. It's starting to squeeze the breath from his lungs, and he tries to inhale.

Lalli has gone silent, but Sigrun's voice is here, now, and the weight is lifting, falling to the snow beside him with a crunch and a splat. Emil manages to turn his head to the side and crack his eyes open; through a haze of black spots he makes out his knife, buried to the hilt in a dead troll. Oh. So he'd gotten it, after all. The last few minutes start to come back to him.

Lalli leans over him; he looks Emil over, checks his limbs, turns his head from side to side. "I'm fine," Emil says, but the words come out slowly, almost slurred. Lalli pulls off a glove, and though he's gentle when he probes the back of Emil's head it's almost more pain than Emil can stand. He bites back a gasp.

Lalli holds his fingers in front of Emil's eyes. Red. "Oh," says Emil.

"Not fine," says Lalli.

Emil has to lie there for several minutes, Lalli and Sigrun hovering over him, checking on him, before he thinks he can stand. With Lalli's help, he raises himself first to his elbows, and waits for his blurred vision to sharpen, for the spots to fade. He's not quite careful enough, as he gets to his feet, and when the world tips sideways it's only Lalli's arm around his waist, hand at his elbow, that keeps him from pitching forward back into the snow.

"Can you walk?" asks Sigrun, and Emil nods. "All right," she says with a sharp nod of her own. "Let's get you back." Lalli does not let go when Sigrun slings Emil's arm around her shoulders, and they walk him to the tank, together.


	8. Hold Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuuri and Sigrun find ways to enjoy each other even when apart. (For a prompt of "Sigrun/Tuuri/'No-Arms' - post-apocalyptic phone sex".)

“Wait,” says Tuuri, voice crackling through the radio. “Wait - stop.”

Dagny does; she obediently raises her head from between Sigrun’s legs as Sigrun lets out a curse. A loud one. And she wants to keep cursing; to demand that Dagny continue, that she put her tongue right back where it had been before Tuuri told her - again - to hold, but Tuuri. Well. Tuuri. Little weasel won’t continue, she knows, unless Sigrun behaves. She’ll have Dagny keep teasing, keep bringing her near to the edge over and over, until Sigrun is shaking with the effort of keeping still.

Making sure Tuuri had access to a radio between visits to Dalsnes is the worst/best idea Sigrun’s ever had.

“Want me to tell you how she looks right now?” Dagny asks with a smirk, and Sigrun can see Tuuri, then, in her mind, her smile all sweet and innocent save for the wicked glint in her eye.

“I already know,” says Tuuri. “I remember.” And Tuuri is definitely sounding breathless, now; Sigrun can picture the flush on the apples of her cheeks, the part of her lips, her hand sliding across her stomach, slipping down. “Bite the inside of her thigh,” Tuuri says. “Gently. She likes that.”

Sigrun breathes in, sharply, at the first nip. “Harder,” says Tuuri, and Sigrun’s gasp turns into a moan. “Is she squirming, yet?” Tuuri asks, and Sigrun swears on gods and ancestors and everything remotely holy that when Tuuri arrives in three weeks’ time she will not even let her get inside the gates before she drags her off and teases her, just like this, until she pants Sigrun’s name, until she begs.

“No,” says Dagny.

“Oh,” says Tuuri, with puffs of breath that Sigrun can hear even through the static. “I guess we’ll have to draw this out a bit longer.”


	9. Moving Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lalli wakes to thunder, rain, and Kitty growling softly in the dark. (For a prompt of "Any SSSS - Chant for Dark Hours".)

Lalli wakes to thunder, rain, and Kitty growling softly in the dark. She's not hissing or howling - at least, not yet - but her eyes are wide and alert, the fur along her spine standing on end. She follows him as he slips out from under the bunk and pads silently around the mattresses on the floor.

Rain hammers the roof of the tank as Lalli slides open the window next to the radio. Neither the moon - full, tonight - nor the stars can pierce through the dark clouds above. Kitty's ears flatten against her head, and she continues to growl.

Lalli returns to the bunk-room just long enough to fetch his coat and knife. He tries to keep the tank's door from rattling as he steps outside into the downpour. The next clap of thunder is louder than he expects; he doesn't flinch.

He's soaked in moments, though his hood keeps his eyes dry. He keeps his back to the door - ready to flee, ready to fight - and raises his hands, palms up, toward the moon he cannot see. He chants a soft runo, words disappearing into the rain, and hopes she can hear him; his fingertips start to tingle, and his breath catches in his throat.

Above him, the clouds begin to thin; the rain tapers off to a drizzle. The moon makes her appearance, shining down on the tank and the clearing around it, and Lalli lets out a slow, deep sigh. In the distance, at the edges of the forest, the shadows are moving; flashes of dark, twisted antlers retreat back into the trees.

Lalli steps back inside and closes the door behind him. Kitty is calm, again; she sits at his feet, tail swishing back and forth. Lalli reaches out, but not to her - he lays his palms, then his forehead, against the sealed-shut door to the tank's driving cab. Thunder rumbles in the distance.

Lalli does not return to bed. He lies down on the floor right where he is, eyes open, to wait for morning. Kitty curls into a ball at his feet.


	10. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A remix of Kiraly's [Scout's Note to a Golden-haired Swede](https://synchronisedscreaming.tumblr.com/post/170739830295/for-the-prompt-anyany-love-song-magnetic).

It’s nearing nightfall when Emil finds them a safe place to rest. Nothing more than the smallest of cottages at the edge of a sparse forest, but the windows are all intact and there should be a fireplace, too.

The moon is out already, pale between the clouds in the sunset sky. Emil’s boots crunch into the packed, heavy snow; the makeshift pallet he drags behind him does not slide smoothly, and his breath puffs damp clouds into the air with the exertion. Lalli says nothing; his voice has been quiet, in Emil’s head, most of the afternoon. Somewhere deep in Emil’s dream he must be resting, or at least that’s what Emil tells himself.

Emil checks the cottage over, each cupboard and corner, before bringing Lalli inside. They’re lucky, tonight; there’s wood stacked beside the fireplace, enough to last until morning, and an old mattress still on the bed frame in the sole bedroom.

Once the fire is lit and the mattress dragged in front of it, Emil picks Lalli up and carries him over. It’s getting a little easier all the time; either Lalli’s getting lighter or Emil’s getting stronger. He hopes it’s the latter - for Lalli’s sake, rather than his own. He shakes off that thought as he shakes out their only blanket. He sits at the edge of the mattress, turns toward the fire, and -

\- freezes.

Lalli is awake.

His eyes are hazy and unfocused, but open. He tugs one glove off, with effort, and pushes his hair back from his face with his bare hand.

Emil has a hundred questions, and all of them start with ‘how’. He fires them off almost on top of one another, and doesn’t stop until he notices the way Lalli is looking at him: uncomprehending, almost blank. After a moment, Lalli’s brow furrows, and his expression turns unhappy.

Emil’s smile falters.

Oh.

He tries to call up any of the very few Finnish phrases Lalli has taught him, but they elude him, tucked into some corner of his mind he can’t access right now. Lalli is looking more frustrated by the second, though he doesn’t speak. Emil breaks eye contact, finally, as Lalli shivers, and busies himself with tucking the blanket in around him.

Lalli pushes Emil’s hands away, moving slowly like through water. He rearranges the blanket, covering himself with just half. He lifts the other half, and waits without words.

His meaning is clear.

Emil joins him under the blanket, lying so they’re face to face, their hands curled between them. This close, the dull exhaustion on Lalli’s face is evident, and Emil wonders what he had to do to find his way back. Lalli reaches out, then, and catches Emil’s hand in his own long fingers. They’re colder than they were, in dreams, and Emil wraps his other hand around them, too, exhaling softly onto their linked fingers to help chase the chill.

Lalli’s eyes flutter closed. Emil hopes they’ll open again come morning.

Outside, the temperature is dropping and it’s starting to snow. Inside, Emil feels only warmth.


	11. About Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigrun's night is not quite going according to plan. (For a prompt of "Aksel/Sigrun - things to do on long winter nights".)

This evening is not going according to plan. Not that Sigrun had much of a plan, to be honest, other than 'strip poker and see where it goes' - but still, where it was going was nowhere, and fast.

"I win," Sigrun says as she lays down her cards. Two pair, compared to Aksel's... well, nothing. "Off with it," Sigrun says; Aksel obediently grasps the hem of his sweater and pulls it over his head. He still has a long-sleeved shirt on underneath. Sigrun sighs. Curse Norwegian winters and their associated ten layers of clothing.

"You want to deal?" Sigrun asks, managing to sound almost as enthusiastic as she had when they started. She rests her head on her knuckles as Aksel picks up the cards. "At this rate," she says, smiling brightly, "it's going to take us forever to get naked." Aksel can take it as a joke if he needs to - or not, if he doesn't.

"If you want to get naked," Aksel says, and oh, Sigrun can tell how hard he's fighting to keep his tone light, casual. "All you have to do is ask."

He blushes a deep, dark red, and Sigrun's struck speechless for a second; she can't believe he admitted it without having it wrung out of him. He's really never seemed to realise that his crush on her is the worst-kept secret in all of Norway. She almost laughs, but she won't do that to him. Not now, especially not since by the look on his face he's already wishing the floor would open up and swallow him.

She could have just hauled off and kissed him, weeks ago. Probably should have - it'd have saved them both some grief. But this - this is something she wasn't expecting from him, and surprises are just fine in her books.

"It's about time," she says. "Are you going to kiss me or not?"


	12. Demure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuuri likes being in charge. (For the Creator's Choice square on this week's SynS bingo card. AU.)

Tuuri could be the picture of innocence, sitting there beside the fire on a thick fur rug on her knees, clad in pink panties and bra. Her hands are folded demurely in her lap - she won’t touch, not yet.

It had been Sigrun’s idea; Tuuri hadn’t anticipated how much she’d like being in charge, not like this, but now she’s both emboldened and enraptured, fixated on the spread of Sigrun’s legs, the curve of her breasts in the firelight as her chest heaves, as Tuuri tells Dagny - orders her, really, in her chirpy voice - where to put her mouth, her tongue, her teeth.

 _Stop, stop_ , she says, and Dagny does, with a tilt of her head. _We need a break. Sigrun, don’t you think we need a break?_ It takes some work, this time, to keep her words light, sweet.

_No_ , Sigrun says. _No. Please._ And she curses them, then, to Hel and back; her hands leave her sides to cup her own breasts, head thrown back and her hair a fiery tangle on the rug. Tuuri knows Sigrun would rather have those hands on her, peeling off what little clothing she’s wearing, or on Dagny, pushing her head back into the red curls between her legs. 

_Okay!_ Tuuri says, and Dagny takes it as her cue to resume, tongue curling out along Sigrun’s thighs before plunging between them. Sigrun yells, one hand clamped over her mouth to muffle the sound. 

Tuuri’s hands slip up, now, skimming the waist of her panties. If she wants it to, this can take all night. 


	13. Over It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil attempts to apologise. (For a prompt of "Emil/Lalli - interrupted and/or imperfect sex + embarrassment".)

Lalli’s already there, on the end of the sofa, when Emil walks into his dream. He hesitates in the doorway, then pushes himself forward, taking a seat on the middle cushion, close enough to Lalli to reach out and touch but leaving a little more space between their bodies than there is, right now, in the waking world.

One of Emil’s legs betrays him by jittering up and down, but if Lalli notices, he doesn’t call attention to it. “So,” Emil begins, trying his hardest to sound less embarrassed than he feels; he licks his lips, and imagines he can still taste Lalli on them though he knows that’s not how any of this works. “About earlier.”

Lalli tilts his head, his expression neutral.

Emil scratches the back of his neck. “I just - I wanted to let you know that, well, it usually isn’t, uh. Isn’t over that quickly.” His face warms as soon as the words are out of his mouth; he’s beet-red now, he’s sure, and right up to his hairline, too.

Lalli only shrugs. “It happens,” is his simple response.

“You’re not upset?”

“No,” says Lalli. “Why would I be?” He moves, then, shedding his cloak, turning onto his back, and lowering himself to lie with his head in Emil’s lap. It’s a pleasant surprise, even if he does look up at Emil with that same frustratingly neutral expression. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Lalli asks, plainly.

Emil feels a blush start to creep over his face again. “Yes. Uh, did you?”

“Yes.” Lall is nothing if not honest and to the point - and right now Emil can appreciate that.

“Next time will be better.” Emil meant it to be reassuring, but he sounds hopeful rather than sure of himself. Plus, he realises belatedly, he’s automatically assumed there’ll even be a next time.

“Yes, it will,” answers Lalli without pause, and there is warmth in his eyes, then, before he closes them. Emil exhales with relief.


End file.
